Nightmare
by SendoErika
Summary: Demonio does not dread Diabla as everyone thinks he does. Diabla x Demonio with hints of Noblesse


**Greetings my guest, here's another rather, if I may say, pointless drabble  
Perhaps exams is making me right more than usual ****(When I should be studying)  
Set once again in the Moonlight memories universe  
Where Noblesse is bound to Demonio and Diabla is missing**

 **Nevermind all that, let's move on to the story!**

* * *

The winter night was a comfortable blanket that settled over the Demon realm, snuggling the dark alleyways with persistent icing that would surely send the street cleaners to hell.

But, she liked it.

A small giggle left soft lips, the rather chilly air blowing through the window smelled of a forgotten promise made on the night they met, sending her own aura of nightmare into a frenzy in a feeble attempt to outrun this colourful memory. She does not bother to maintain it, not when the being beside her was so deep into the scene of the mind, it would be a pity to ruin it all now. The only audible noise was the quiet, even breathing of Demonio who, despite being bestowed the title of the Entity of Death, slept without a care in the world, rather like a child curled into the protective arms of a loving mother. She knew it was far from that, assassins like him did not have peace let alone a full nights sleep, but she notes as she channels magic smoothly through the cross shaped symbol across his chest, she will make sure that his mind remains undisturbed.

Despite what everyone said, despite how she treated him when awake, Diabla did not like to see Demonio suffer.

With that thought in mind however, faint irritation still tickled her senses as she shivered once more. She rolled her eyes at the sight of Demonio clutching to the duvet like his sanity (again), reminding her once again that this was why she was awake during the Witching Hour in the first place. Abbadon did not have exactly warm winters, and tonight was no exception when all the flames had died out into a warming glow, the chill kissed porcelain skin into consciousness. Now, from previous experience merely "pulling" the duvet would do no good and only result in his re tightened grip on it. So our little Demon Queen would have to find other ways of finding herself some warmth.

Her eyes focus on her partner once more, taking in how his muscled arm was tucked at an angle under his head, half concealed by snow white hair. _How inconvenient_ , she scoffs to herself, fingers finding their way with deft swiftness onto the comfy bed, hoisting herself into a slight sitting position. A subtle tug on her end and the arm lies in a natural line, the contrasting heat from his skin and her frozen tips failed to trigger her annoyance this time, all too contempt to just fall back into her dream. Its a miracle that the butler did not stir, and she takes half the mind to praise herself for doing an amazing job of putting his mind into a temporary blankness. As a reward for herself, Diabla lets her own hair drape across his arm, neck finding refuge in a comfortable position on the pale skin. Her body curls into his as the man unconciously sweeps her to his chest. The last thing that crossed her mind was the protective embrace, and she lets out another gentle sigh.

"Goodnight Demonio...I wish you a good dream tonight..."

* * *

"Diabla...?"

Mismatched eyes flutter open, blinking a few times in an attempt to drive the blurred edges away. His gaze focuses on his outstretched hand.

But there is no sensation of tickling hair across the smooth muscle. No familiar warmth that resonates with his own soul, no realm of dreams that eludes him without the rightful mistress at his side. He stares again at the arm, before curling the palm into a fist, trying to grasp an invisible _knowing_ that _she was, she had been, so definitely,_ there.

But where exactly was _there_ when she wasn't _here?_ Not by his side, was it a punishment?

Was he defying her by finding the presence of Noblesse a hopeful blessing?

He settles back to wander aimlessly, the peace out of grasp yet again.

He wonders how many more times he would have this dream, or was it a nightmare?

After the Witching Hour, we wallow in our sin.

* * *

 **This really came from a picture prompt that was too beautiful to miss.**

 **I hope you enjoyed it, leave a review and tell me what you think! OwO**

 **Sendo Erika 24.10.17**


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